The Price of Surrender
by LJlashlarue
Summary: After the war, Pansy finds that she needs help. Hermione finds that she wants to give it to her, and more besides. Femslash, Slash, Violence, not explicit. One-shot.


Author: Lash_Larue

Title: "The Price of Surrender"

Pairing: Hermione/Pansy

Rating: R

Warnings: Language, violence, sexual situations, angst

Word Count: 9380

Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling

The Price of Surrender

Hermione Granger looked at her office in satisfaction. The war was over, Voldemort was dead, and she was not. She had carved a place for herself in the wake of all the destruction, helping to rebuild a shattered society and giving rise to some new and to her mind much-needed departments within the Ministry. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had been scrapped and replaced by the Department for Inter-species Co-operation, a body that had representatives from all walks of the magical world. There were others of course, more changes, and not all of them were from her. But this department was her special joy, and it was all hers. She had kept the name simple, so as to be more welcoming. Hermione was the head of The Department for Legal Aid.

She was in fact nearly the whole of it at the moment. She had an assistant, a very competent witch by the name of Regina, and a research assistant, Gilbert, and that was it for full-time staff. But it was new, and it was hers, and it was there to help guide people of limited means through the foggy seas of legal battles, to sweep away the obfuscations and ensure that no one got ground up by the system. "Everyone deserves competent legal help, whether they can afford to pay for it or not," was her rallying cry. She was about to have that sentiment tested rather severely.

"Someone to see you, Ms. Granger," announced Regina. A tingle of excitement passed along Hermione's spine, she loved new cases.

"Send them in please, Regina" she answered, the door opened, and in walked… _"Parkinson?"_

"In the flesh, Granger," answered Pansy. There was still the same arrogant expression on her face that Hermione remembered from school. As a matter of fact, there was even a hint of the panic that had been there when she had been screaming for everyone to give Harry to Voldemort. She also looked a bit down-at-the-heel, but she still sat in the client's chair as if she were too good to do so.

"What brings you here, Parkinson?" asked Hermione in a voice that was carefully devoid of emotion.

"Well, this _is_ the Department for Legal Aid, isn't it? I need legal aid, obviously," she replied.

"Badly enough to accept help from a Gryffindor Mudblood?" To her credit, Pansy tried, she arched an eyebrow and stared imperiously at Hermione. Then the façade began to crack.

"I have nowhere else to turn," she said softly, looking at her feet. "I have nowhere else to turn." A runnel of mascara trailed down her cheek, and Hermione realized with a shock that Pansy was using Muggle make-up, and _cheap_ Muggle makeup at that.

"What has happened, Parkinson?"

"My father killed my mother, and then killed himself, not quite a year ago…" she began.

"I'm sorry," said Hermione automatically, "I heard of their passing, but I did not know the details."

"No reason for you to be concerned, Granger, we weren't exactly friends. It was tough for a while, still is, in fact. But the real problem is what drove him to it. He squandered the entire Parkinson fortune trying to support He-who-must-not-be-named, he and his business partner. They weren't powerful enough wizards to do any good otherwise, and they were afraid they'd be left out in the New Order if they didn't do something. All that was left was a small flat that my mother never knew about. It was where he took his girlfriends. And it's where I have been living since my parents died."

"I see, and it's certainly unfortunate, but I don't see what this department can do to help," said Hermione gently.

"Borgin has come up with a debt he says my father owed him. He's going to take the flat, and I'll have nowhere to go."

"Well, I'll see what I can do, of course, but if the debt is legitimate, there may be no recourse through the courts. Can't Draco help? The Malfoys emerged from the aftermath largely intact, at least monetarily."

"Pfft, Draco," snorted Pansy. "He dumped me even before this happened. It seems he didn't want me anymore once he found that other women would let him screw them."

Hermione flushed a little, but found no ready answer for that one.

"Then how have you been supporting yourself, if I may ask?" Pansy looked at her feet again.

"I've been working in a Muggle strip bar," she muttered.

"Merlin, is that all you could find to do?" gasped Hermione before she could catch herself.

"Yes, that's all I could find to do; well, other than outright whoring. Nobody in the magical world wants to hire the last Parkinson, thanks to dear old dad," answered Pansy bitterly.

"Having tried to hand Harry over to Voldemort probably isn't helping you much either, don't you think?" Pansy's eyes snapped up, and for a moment she looked like her old self again. Only for a moment though. She sagged further in the chair.

"I expect you're right there, Granger. You always were right, weren't you? Sorry to bother you, I'll let myself out." Pansy rose and tried to summon some dignity as she turned to leave.

"Sit down, Parkinson," said Hermione firmly, "we've got work to do." Pansy turned and stared at her.

"But you said that if the debt was legitimate, that you couldn't do anything. I know my father owed him the money, I was just grasping at straws, coming here at all."

"One interesting thing about the law, Parkinson, is that legitimate is a bit flexible. And I'll bet Borgin flexed it a touch more than most. Show me what you have." Pansy gave a rueful grimace.

"Usually when I hear someone say that, they are drunk and leering at me," she said sadly. The image that sprang to Hermione's mind struck her like a blow, Pansy slowly peeling off her clothes on a stage in a smoke-filled room. She swallowed hard, and wondered where on earth that image had come from, and why.

"It's my job to help. Who you are doesn't matter in this office; do you have the original invoice?" Pansy handed over a piece of parchment, and Hermione read it carefully. "Is this your father's signature?" Pansy nodded in affirmation. "This invoice just says, "materials", what was it exactly that your father bought?"

"Knowing him, some foul poison or other, but I don't know. Does it make any difference?"

"It might, if we can show that the material in question was an illegal substance then he won't be able to collect on this. Certainly not by turning you out of your home," Hermione told her.

"A home it has never been, but it keeps some of the cold out. What else do you need?"

"The material in question would be best, and the original packaging, or a shipping invoice. I'll get started on things while you check for it. Do you have any access to your old house at all?"

"Hardly," said Pansy acidly, "the man that took the house made it quite clear that I was never to return. He had wanted to get at my father for years, and throwing me out was the best he could do, since my father was already dead."

_"I might just have a peep at that proceeding as well,"_ Hermione promised herself. Aloud she said, "Find out if there is anything in your flat, then. Come and see me next Tuesday, and we'll discuss progress. How can I reach you in the meantime?"

"The owls still find me, Granger. Not often, but they do. I've got to get to work, how much do I owe you?"

"It depends on your income and assets, I'll need to see your pay vouchers and a list of your assets to determine the fee," answered Hermione. Pansy rummaged around in her purse and handed a slip of paper to Hermione.

"That's last weeks' pay stub, and of course there are tips. I guess I average about the equivalent of ten galleons a week in tips. As for my assets, here they are." Pansy pulled her jumper up, exposing her breasts. Hermione's mouth went dry. "Crude, I know," said Pansy softly, "but that is my world now." She pulled her jumper down and walked straight-backed out of the office.

Hermione gazed after her, stunned at what the once-proud Slytherin had been reduced to. "Breasts like that ought to bring in more than ten galleons a week," she said aloud. She shook her head to clear it, and looked at the pay stub, it wasn't much. _"I wonder what kind of place the "Velvet Gash" is," _she thought. But she feared that she knew. Hermione began drawing up a list of things for Gilbert to research on what was now the Parkinson case.

"So how was work today?" asked Ron as Hermione hung up her coat.

"Interesting, I have a new client, and the case is challenging," she answered.

"What's it about?"

"Ronald, you know I can't discuss cases with you. If this ever goes to trial, then it will of course be in the public record, but even then anything between my client and I will remain privileged," she said firmly.

"Ron, what did you do to set her off like that? It's just like old times," laughed Harry as he entered the room and kissed Ron on the cheek. Ron embraced Harry and sighed deeply.

"She's back to following the rules again. 'Mione, you were a lot more fun during the war, you know," Ron assured her.

"You weren't, what's for dinner, Harry?"

"Beef Wellington, asparagus, and fresh baked bread, with strawberries and Devonshire cream for desert, how does that sound?"

"Like you should be called, "The Boy Who Cooked", I can't think what Ron ever did to deserve you."

"I can tell you if you like," said Ron suggestively.

"No thanks, as long as you two are happy, then so am I."

The dinner was marvelous, and Hermione found herself so stuffed and satisfied that she accepted the invitation to spend the night at Ron and Harry's. Tomorrow was Saturday after all, and she didn't have to go to work. But work was on her mind as she settled in to sleep, at least her latest client was. Hermione thought of the things Pansy had told her, and shuddered as she imagined her working somewhere called the "Velvet Gash". _"Even Pansy doesn't deserve that,"_ she said to herself. Her dreams that night drifted into the image of Pansy under a harsh spotlight, taking off her clothes for money, and hating it. Mercifully the dreams drifted away from that, to be replaced by the picture of Pansy's breasts. Beyond that, the dreams got a little humid.

"Are you sure you don't want to spend the day with us?" Harry asked over breakfast. "We're going to the seaside; Ron wants to look for shells."

"I'm sure it would be lovely, but I need to do a bit of research for this new case, I'm going to…"

"The library," finished Ron. "Don't ever change, Hermione. Oh, Gin sends her love; I had an owl from her yesterday. She and Gabrielle Delacour are touring Australia on holiday."

"That's great, I love Australia. Tell her I said hello, and send my love to the two of them, please. Thanks again for the hospitality boys; it's always good to be with you."

"Our pleasure, Hermione, see you next Friday, then?" queried Harry.

"Wouldn't miss it! Have fun at the seaside, and don't get sunburned, Ron." Hermione rose from the table and then flooed back to her house.

The library at the Ministry not only had volumes pertaining to the collection of debts, but also a Muggle London directory that oddly enough had a listing for a certain bar advertising "Adult" entertainment. Hermione thought that she should see for herself where her newest client was working, just to get a better idea of her situation, of course. The taxi driver asked her twice if she was sure she wanted to go there. "Beggin' your pardon Miss, but that ain't strictly speakin' a very good part of town, if I may say so."

"I thank you for your concern, but I assure you that I will be just fine," she replied, and so it was that she found herself alighting from the cab in front of a very dubious looking establishment with a purple neon sign. Said sign was, on closer inspection, positively vulgar, and it was with a red face that Hermione passed through the doors. There were the typical small tables scattered throughout the room, some of them close to the stage, and others tucked away in the shadows. It was to one of these latter that Hermione went, and took a seat.

"What can I get for you, ducky?" asked the waitress that appeared soon enough.

"May I see a menu?" Hermione asked hopefully. The waitress produced a card from the pocket of her apron. The list was short, and Harry would have cringed. "Fish and Chips, and a firewhiskey, please."

"A what?"

"I mean, a whiskey, neat, with ice on the side," Hermione corrected. The waitress nodded and headed to the bar. A man walked out onto the stage, and the band began to play.

"Ladies and Gents," intoned the Emcee, "for your entertainment tonight, the Velvet Gash proudly presents, Lady Heather!" A tall blond woman with huge breasts and a bored look on her face slunk onstage and began to move more or less to the music. It wasn't long before the shouts of "take it off!" rang out, and Lady Heather obliged. Soon enough she was clad only in a g-string, and those seated nearest the stage were hooting loudly, and waving money. Lady Heather would wriggle up to them and allow them to tuck the bills into her g-string. Hermione couldn't be sure, but it seemed that the larger the note, the deeper it went, and she thought that maybe it was a 10 pound note that one patron had folded up and clenched in his teeth.

_"This woman is nowhere near as beautiful as Pansy is,"_ mused Hermione, _"she's bound to make more than ten pounds a week in tips. Something doesn't make sense here."_ She was right of course, but it wasn't until after Lady Jane, and Lady Gillian, and a couple of other Lady whoever's that she found out what. The emcee announced Lady Raven, and the lights dimmed, and a single spotlight shone on the stage. Out walked Pansy, wearing a skin-tight black dress, and Hermione stopped breathing.

She danced gracefully, and she was beautiful, but her face was a stone mask of disdain. The other women had played to the audience, flirted, laughed, or were just rawly sexual and apparently available. Everyone there knew Pansy was not available at all, and the tension in the air was palpable. Pansy _warred_ with her audience, and she never approached the edge of the stage. She shed her dress in a way that seemed, and that Hermione knew _was,_ magical. There were a few hands outstretched with notes in them, but Pansy roundly ignored them, and when she finished her dance with her arms stretched over her head, and a tiny gleam of sweat on her skin, there was a scattering of coins tossed onto the stage, which Pansy calmly collected and walked off with.

Hermione wondered why the owner kept her there, apart from her beauty; she changed the mood of the club from one of raucous enjoyment to one of almost anger as even the dimmest of the patrons knew that here was something forever beyond their reach. And then Hermione watched as the drink orders poured in, and the waitresses ran as fast as they could while a sea of liquor struggled to drown the fires that Pansy had started, and that question was answered. Hermione's waitress appeared with a large glass of ice water.

"Here you go luv. You look like you could use a little cooling off," she said, grinning. Now that she mentioned it, it _was_ pretty warm in there. Hermione saw a patron step through a curtain by the bar.

"What's back there, the loo?" she asked.

"Private rooms, for lap dances," answered the waitress.

"Oh," said Hermione, "how much is that?" She was still trying to get an idea of Pansy's income, of course.

"Depends. Each dancer charges what they want, some are more than others. And it's always extra for full nudity." Hermione took a large gulp of ice water, and waited out the frozen throat.

"I expect Lady Raven does quite well back there, then," Hermione stated.

"Never a one. She don't want to do it, so she's set a ridiculous rate. The boss only keeps her on 'cause she makes the customers drink so much. That and the fact that she's so fuckin' gorgeous, but she's cold as ice."

"How much does she charge?" asked Hermione in what she hoped was a casual voice. The waitress laughed.

"You've got it bad, haven't you luv? Ten thousand pounds standard, 15 thousand for full nude, like I said, nobody's paying that. The other dancers are usually 20 and 35 pounds. On a good night they might get 5 private sessions. Raven could get rich if she wasn't so stand-offish, but I guess that's one reason she's so hot. Another whiskey?"

"Sure," said Hermione, "make it a large one." Hermione nursed her whisky through one more round of the dancers, and as she stared at Pansy standing motionless at the end of her dance she mentally translated 15,000 pounds into galleons and reflected that it might be worth it. Instead she left the club, ducked into a nearby alley, and Apparated home where she rapidly showered and then masturbated furiously until she fell into an exhausted sleep with Pansy's image burned into her eyelids.

Sunday was spent in the library.

Back in her office on Monday, she was pleased to see that Gilbert had not been idle all weekend, and he presented her with a very nice summation of the work that he had done, having found precedents for barring the collection of a debt for illegal substances, and some others delineating circumstances where a child might retain some part of an otherwise encumbered estate. She didn't have everything that she needed, but it was a start, and she thought perhaps she could offer Pansy a measure of hope.

Tuesday found her anxiously awaiting Pansy's arrival, and she was oddly disappointed that Pansy was as aloof as ever. She seemed to be trying to redeem herself in her own eyes for showing vulnerability the last time. "Were you able to find anything in your flat?" Hermione asked.

"No, he never kept much there, no records, no valuables. It was just a place for him to get his rocks off, I guess. Most of his Dark objects were kept in a hidden place in his study."

"Do you know how to get into it?" asked Hermione.

"Sure, I spied on him some so I'd know how. But I can't go into the house, it's warded against me. If I tried it, I'd end up in Azkaban, and that would be even worse than things are now. I guess." Hermione felt a real stirring of pity for Pansy, who, she reminded herself, was not really a very nice person no matter how beautiful she was.

"Who has the house now?"

"Mortimer Bellwether, the arsehole," supplied Pansy bitterly. "He was father's business partner, and he robbed him blind, but I can't prove it."

"Tell me how to open the hiding place, and leave getting into the house to me. If we can find evidence that that sale was of illegal goods, I'm positive you can keep the flat. I believe that we can even avoid having to go to court over it. Borgin is no fool, he won't risk having his business exposed in open court."

"Why are you doing all this Granger? I know you hate me, and you sure have reason to. Why not just tell me I'm out of luck and send me on my way? What's in it for you?" This question was easy to answer.

"It's my job to do this, Parkinson. I created this department to handle situations just like this, where a person is being denied justice because they do not have the resources to seek it. I don't hate you anymore either, it has been too long, and we have all lost too much to cling to old enmities. For good or ill, we grew up together in a way, and many of our contemporaries are dead, and so is Voldemort. It just makes no sense to dwell on the past."

"What is _right_ does not change to suit my personal preferences either, and I do not believe that what has happened to you is right. I'll do everything that I can to help you, regardless of our past. I'd do the same for any citizen, Witch, Wizard, Elf, Goblin, Centaur, Veela, it doesn't matter in the least who you are. Justice is the right of everyone." Hermione finished speaking, and sat calmly in her chair regarding the witch in front of her.

"You really mean that, don't you?" breathed Pansy.

"With all of my heart," replied Hermione. Pansy's face slowly broke into the first real smile that Hermione had ever seen directed at her. It was a quiet sort of smile, but it was really quite lovely.

"It's possible that I have been wrong about you, Granger," Pansy said tentatively. "Now then, here's how to get the compartment open…"

In the end, it was ridiculously easy to do. Mortimer Bellwether was very concerned with being an upright citizen these days, and when Hermione had appeared on his doorstep with a list of books supposedly missing from the Ministry Library and checked out to Pansy's father, he was only too happy to show Hermione into the study.

"I am afraid that my ex-partner was not a very moral person," said Bellwether greasily, "he actually supported you-know-who. He nearly beggared our business to do it. I'm just lucky I figured out what he was up too in time to stave off bankruptcy for the firm. It was however, too late for Parkinson, but he had only himself to blame."

Hermione smiled and nodded as she was conducted to the study, but she was coldly furious at the sycophant before her. _"I will bring you down, you arsehole," _she promised herself. _"You will not get away with shifting all of the blame from yourself, not at Pansy's expense." _Hermione was positively fierce in the protection of her clients, including Pansy. (Especially Pansy?) She proceeded to the shelves where she gathered several volumes that Pansy had told her would be there, carefully choosing books of no real value so as not to stir up Bellwether. Hermione did notice many treasures on the shelves, however. At the prearranged time, uproar sounded from the front of the house.

"Please excuse me Ms. Granger, I shall be back as soon as I have sorted this out," said Bellwether as he bustled from the room. Hermione quickly moved to the section of the bookcase that Pansy had told her about, and muttered an incantation that made her feel a bit queasy. The hidden compartment snapped open, and Hermione swept the complete contents into her bag with the packing spell that she normally used. She took a further moment to transfigure the items into the sort of things you might expect to find in a woman's purse, just in case. There was no sound of Bellwether returning, and Hermione's eyes fell on the large desk in the room.

"Revelio Parkinson" she whispered as she waved her wand, and a drawer shot open. In the drawer were a thick ledger, and a few envelopes. "Duplicato totalus" she murmured, and similarly transfigured the duplicate items that appeared in her purse. Regardless of what they held, they would not be admissible evidence, but they might tell her something, and Hermione had conceived an active dislike for Mortimer Bellwether. She had just finished this and closed the drawer when Bellwether returned, his face flushed and a purple vein throbbing on his forehead.

"Are you quite finished, Miss Granger? I shouldn't like to hurry you, but a band of vandals has written some filthy graffiti on my garden wall, and it is resistant to common cleansing spells. I shall have to contact a magical cleaning service," he explained.

"Quite finished, Mr. Bellwether, I thank you for your help. I shall strive to see that you get the recognition that you deserve for this." Bellwether puffed visibly.

"My thanks, Ms. Granger, but I have only done my duty as a citizen," he said pompously.

"_And I shall do mine, you foul bastard,"_ thought Hermione as she smiled at him and took her leave. Hermione, Regina, and Gilbert worked quite late that night, but it was with a real sense of satisfaction that she sent an owl to Pansy Parkinson before she went home to bed.

"What's up, Granger?" asked Pansy as she entered Hermione's office, "the owl you sent woke me up, I hope it was worth it."

"I believe that you will feel that it was," said Hermione as a grin spread across her face. "I wouldn't plan on moving, unless you just want to. I found the "material" mentioned on the invoice, as well as a statement referencing the spec number on the vial I found in your father's hiding place. The vial contains Basilisk venom, and that is a proscribed substance, not to be traded for any reason."

"Borgin can't take my flat?" asked Pansy uncertainly.

"No, the question now is, what do you want to require of him?"

"I don't understand," said Pansy, clearly unwilling to hope too much.

"To put it crudely, we have him by the balls," gloated Hermione. "You can ruin him, or you can make him pay. It's up to you."

"How much?" asked Pansy. Hermione shrugged.

"I don't know, really, at some point he would simply close up and flee. It will be all about the galleons to him. He'll pay to stay in business and out of Azkaban, but at some point he'll balk and disappear. But I suppose you can name a figure and wait for a counter offer."

"Doesn't this conflict with your sense of justice or something? I mean, you have proof that he's a criminal. Don't you want to put him in prison?" asked Pansy.

"Part of me does," admitted Hermione, "but the practical part realizes that there will always be people willing to trade in illicit substances for profit. With Borgin, we know who we've got, and really, putting him in prison won't put any galleons in your purse. Even with your own flat, you will need money to live. More than you make at the Velvet Gash, if you mean to be happy."

"You care if I'm happy? Why?" asked a stunned Pansy. Hermione drew a deep breath.

"I saw you dance last Saturday, Pansy," said Hermione softly, using her first name without thinking. "I saw how you held yourself proudly, refusing to cross that last line even when so doing would have gained you an avalanche of gold. You are a witch, and a woman, and you are my sister in blood and magic, and I would rather see you freed from that degradation than put one unprincipled arsehole in Azkaban. The thing about unprincipled arseholes is, there is always another one," she finished. But to herself she added, _"but there is only one Pansy Parkinson."_ The second real smile Pansy had offered to Hermione bloomed, and Hermione's heart quickened.

"You saw it then, the last vestige of my pride," said Pansy slowly. "To take money to look at me, yes, that way I could pretend that I was a painting, or a sculpture, a work of art that people paid to see. But to let them _touch_ me for money? That I could not do."

"I understand that, but is it also because they are Muggles?" asked Hermione.

"In part, but believe me; the time is long past that I considered myself superior to Muggles, just look at my life. What I do is not sexual for me, it's just a job. Some of the customers have asked me out, and a few of them have even seemed fairly decent. I simply do not relish a touch without magic, my body just does not respond. But for me, the larger problem is that they are almost all men. Since Draco, I have no desire for the touch of a man, not sexually, not anymore," she looked Hermione full in the face as she said this, daring her to contradict.

Fireworks exploded in Hermione's heart, great catherine wheels of joy, and soaring dragons of hope. "I understand, Pansy. Oh, may I call you Pansy?" she inquired.

"I think that under the circumstances, Hermione, that you are free to call me anything whatsoever. Now what should we ask from the arsehole?"

"One hundred thousand galleons," said Hermione flatly.

"Fuck!" said Pansy.

_"I wish,"_ thought Hermione. What she said was, "I'll send him a letter, he may try and bargain, but he'll pay. It's just good business. We will have to guarantee to drop the matter at this however. If we come back for more, he will rebel. We wouldn't want that, I think." Pansy thought of the array of dark objects at Borgin's disposal.

"No," she agreed, "we wouldn't want that at all. I can never thank you enough, Hermione. Would splitting the money from Borgin be fair compensation?"

'"No," said Hermione flatly, and Pansy's smile faltered for a moment. "That money is yours, as recompense for wrongs done to you, and punishment to Borgin for being a criminal. The fee for the services of this office, based on your income, is 50 galleons." Pansy was stunned.

"Lady Heather gets that much for a lap dance," protested Pansy.

"No doubt Lady Heather knows what she is worth. You are not Lady Heather, and I am not a customer. I am your advocate." The determined light in Hermione's eyes convinced Pansy to let the matter stand, but she would not forget this.

"Thank you, Hermione," said Pansy simply.

"You are most welcome," replied Hermione, "now let us turn our attention to Mortimer Bellwether, another arsehole," Hermione grinned like a hunting leopard.

xxxx

"Of course you can bring a guest for dinner, Hermione," said Harry, "who is it?"

"You'll see," promised Hermione, "but you'll never guess."

"It'll be Luna," said Ron confidently.

"We could have guessed Luna, Ron. In fact, you just did."

"She's just taking the mickey, it will either be Luna, or Seamus, they both work at the Min," retorted Ron.

"We work at the Min, Ron. Lots of people besides Hermione work at the Min. It can't be all of them."

"No, she said one, but I'll wager a galleon that it's Luna," insisted Ron.

"Done," said Harry, and shook his hand.

"Harry, Ron, this is…"

"Parkinson!" exclaimed Ron.

"Got it in one, Weasley," answered Pansy, "nice to see the years haven't dulled your rapier wit." Harry turned a snort into a cough, but Ron wasn't fooled.

"You think it's funny, Harry? Have you forgotten that she wanted to give you to Voldemort?" said Ron as his face grew crimson.

"I was wrong to do that," said Pansy sincerely, "I was scared, and I was stupid, and I was wrong. I'm sorry for that, Harry."

"Works for me, Parkinson," said Harry, "any friend of Hermione's is a friend of mine," he extended his hand, and Pansy smiled as she took it. Ron stood with his arms crossed, scowling.

"Oh come on, Weasley," chided Pansy, "you know you're my King." Ron tried to hold on to his anger, he really did, but it was just too stupid, even for him.

"Then bow, wench," said Ron imperiously, "Harry's dinner is getting cold." Pansy smilingly bowed to Ron, and the frost of years blew away in the warm breeze of sensibility. Hermione was really all the guarantee either Ron or Harry required of anything whatsoever.

" 'Struth, Harry," groaned Pansy as she laid her fork down, "I have never had a meal to equal that one, not even Hogwarts at Christmas."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it Pansy," replied Harry, "so what have you been doing with yourself?" There followed an embarrassed silence, which Hermione broke at last.

"Pansy has been through some tough times, we hope that they will be improving soon. My office has helped her with a small problem regarding her parents' deaths," Hermione supplied.

"She means that she has saved my ruddy life," corrected Pansy, "and twisted Borgin's tail nicely in the bargain." Harry's eyes lit up at that, he remembered Borgin with small kindness.

"Even better then," said Harry, "so are things are settled for you now?"

"Not quite," answered Hermione, "there is one thing left that I thought you two might be interested in." Hermione launched into a long explanation that had Ron and Harry first outraged, then interested, and then laughing like fools. It took quite a while.

"You ladies are welcome to stay the night," said Harry, "Hermione's room is always available." Hermione blushed a little, and glanced at Pansy.

"I'm sure Pansy doesn't want to bunk with me, Harry," she protested.

"Truth to tell, Hermione, I am that knackered, and more than a little drunk thanks to that wonderful brandy. If you can stand my snoring, I'm sure that you won't bother me." Ron and Harry both caught the nervous glance that Hermione sent Pansy, but they carefully avoided mentioning it.

"All right then," agreed Hermione, "see you in the morning boys, and thanks. This way, Pansy," Hermione lead Pansy down the hall and out of sight.

"I would never have believed this," said Ron soberly, "I can't wait to tell Ginny!"

"You WILL wait, Ron. It's not up to us to tell tales on Hermione, and we don't actually know anything for sure."

"Bollocks, Harry, you saw the way Hermione looked at her, same as I did," protested Ron.

"I did, but I did not see Parkinson return it, butt out, Ron, and you owe me a galleon." Harry and a grumbling Ron cleared the table before heading to bed.

"The loo is just there, Pansy," said Hermione as she searched through her closet. "Here is a gown that might fit you."

"Never use them myself," replied a tipsy Pansy, "just get tangled up in them, but I could do with a shower." She entered the bathroom and closed the door, leaving Hermione with a very strange look on her face. Hermione listened for a time to the water running in the shower, and then swiftly changed into her nightgown and slipped beneath the covers. She was facing the bathroom door when it opened, and Pansy stepped out toweling her hair. Hermione's breath caught in her throat, and a tingling warmth began at the apex of her legs. Backlit, seemingly unaware of Hermione's gaze, Pansy Parkinson dried her hair and body, and stretched, and then strolled nude to the bed where Hermione lay watching her. She slipped beneath the covers, bringing with her a cloud of scented warmth.

"Night, Hermione," she murmured sleepily, "see you in the morning."

_"Yes you will,"_ thought Hermione, "goodnight, Pansy," she said. In moments Pansy's breathing was the deep, regular, rumble of someone deeply asleep. Hermione lay long awake beside her, but at last she too drifted off. Sometime during the night, Hermione and Pansy snuggled together like kittens, and enjoyed each other's warmth.

Hermione woke early, and spent a time enjoying the feeling of Pansy's body next to hers, the silken feel of her skin, and the warm scent that came from her. Then she gently extracted herself from the embrace, and slipped into the bathroom. She showered thoroughly, making more noise than was strictly necessary, and then she took a deep breath and swung the door wide. She stepped through the door rubbing her head with the towel, letting the light from the bathroom fall across her body; she turned her profile to the bed, and bent over to wrap her hair in the towel, and she thought that she heard a faint gasp from Pansy's direction. Opening a drawer in the bureau, she pulled out a pair of panties and stepped into them, and then turned to the bed.

"Awake, Pansy? Help yourself to underthings, I keep plenty here, and you won't believe Harry's breakfasts. They are even better than last night."

"If you say so Granger," whispered Pansy, and in an even softer voice, she said, "touché'."

"Beg your pardon?" said Hermione, smiling.

"Nothing," replied Pansy. Then she threw the covers aside and stood by the bed and stretched, calmly walked over to the bureau and selected a pair of panties for herself. "Thanks Hermione, damn good of you to let me into your knickers," she said plainly. Hermione felt herself grow weak in the knees, but she remained outwardly calm as she pulled on a top.

"Anytime at all, Pansy, anytime at all." She finished dressing and padded to the kitchen to start the coffee. Alone in the room, Pansy dressed, and thought, and dared to hope for the second time in a week.

"So you'll use the coins to contact us if you need help, right?" asked Harry for the third time.

"Yes, Harry, I will. I wouldn't worry too much, he's a coward at heart," assured Hermione.

"A coward with a lot to lose, Hermione," amended Ron, "keep that in mind, would you?" That did get through to her, actually, and she nodded seriously. Ron and Harry knew what they were about in this regard. Harry was head of the Auror office, and Ron was his second in command.

"I'll message you before I go in, I promise," she told them.

"I still think we should go with you," grumbled Ron.

"We've been over that Ron; you don't have cause to enter that house officially. I don't want to risk tainting the evidence, too much can go wrong as it is. Come on Pansy, I at least have to go to work tomorrow, and I have things to do first."

"Has she always been this bossy?" Pansy asked Ron and Harry.

"Always," they chorused, "but never wrong," added Ron softly, as he took Harry's hand. Hermione and Pansy stepped into the fire and disappeared.

"Really, Hermione," protested Pansy after they emerged from the fireplace in the flat was now hers beyond doubt, "you've done enough and more. There is no need to take this risk for me."

"I disagree, Pansy, and it's not _just_ for you. The man is a criminal, and he should face his crimes. People like him made the war against Voldemort harder than it might have been."

"People like me, you mean," said Pansy.

"Not anymore. You aren't like that anymore Pansy, and everyone makes mistakes. The trick is to learn from them and move on. And you have, and that's enough about that. I need to make some arrangements today and tomorrow; I'll go back to Bellwether's house tomorrow evening. In the meantime you might try looking through this list of openings at the ministry; I believe you'll have a fairer chance this time around." Hermione stepped back into the green flames and was gone. Pansy took the papers to her kitchen table, and looked at them intently, but what she saw was Hermione stepping nude through the door of the bathroom, and what she thought of was how Hermione was risking herself for Pansy's benefit.

"Fuck me," she breathed, "I'm in love with a Mudblood."

Hermione checked the coin in the pocket of her robes before she rang the bell on what used to be Pansy's house, and sent the message that told Ron and Harry that she was about to enter the house. She told the House-elf who answered the door that she needed to see Mr. Bellwether on a matter of some importance, and she waited.

"Ms. Granger!" exclaimed Bellwether. "Do come in, I hope that I may be of further assistance to the Ministry."

"You may indeed, Mr. Bellwether, one of the books that I retrieved had a slip of paper in it indicating that Parkinson had received a banned substance. I thought that it would be best if I came myself, to avoid any possibility of you being blamed for this should it come to light. Perhaps together we can find it, and keep this matter between ourselves."

"An excellent suggestion, please allow me to express my gratitude for your consideration. I understand that you head up a new department at the Ministry, and I am well aware that new departments always struggle for funding. But let's take first things first, shall we. What is the nature of this banned substance?"

"Basilisk venom," answered Hermione grimly.

"Oh dear," exclaimed Bellwether, "I certainly don't want any of that around, do you have any idea where he might have hidden it?"

"I believe we should start with the study, my information is that he conducted nearly all of his business from there," replied Hermione.

"So he did, so he did, by all means let us check the study. After you, Ms. Granger," he bowed and swept his hand towards the study, Hermione did not see the vicious glint in his eyes as she passed him.

Pansy watched from a tree on the grounds as Hermione entered her old home. She was terribly nervous about this plan, and she could not stand waiting at her flat. So she was here, and she had heard the conversation that took place in the doorway. She knew a moment of disdain for the mannerless fool for keeping a guest on the doorstep, but it was swiftly replaced by renewed worry. She cast a time spell, and imagined walking from the front door to the study, as she had done so many times to see her father. She waited.

"Where do you think he might have hidden it, Mr. Bellwether? You knew him well, after all," asked Hermione.

"I thought that I did, yes," he said, shaking his head, "but how he could have supported you-know-who is beyond me. I think we should start with the desk; he was always there when I saw him here on business. I'm sure that desk has a secret or two to show us." Hermione could scarcely believe her luck; she had thought that it might be tricky to search the desk. All she needed was permission to look, and then anything that she found was fair game for evidence. She seated herself behind the desk, and began opening drawers. "I'll just check this closet while you do the desk then, Ms. Granger, feel free to ask questions about anything you find. I've been through the desk, of course, but I wasn't looking for hidden things, just business papers." Hermione worked her way over to the drawer that contained the ledger and the envelopes; she knew he might have moved them, but perhaps not. It was worth the chance, she pulled open the drawer, and her breath caught in her throat.

"Do you recognize this ledger, Mr. Bellwether?" she asked. She barely felt the sting on her neck, and Bellwether's reply came from far down a tunnel.

"Of course I do, you Mudblood bitch," Bellwether answered, and then he turned and opened a section of the shelves and revealed a stairway plunging steeply down. Hermione didn't feel a thing as she was dragged down the steps by her hair.

"Too long," said Pansy to herself. "This is taking too long. Harry and Ron should have been here by now." She had no convenient way to contact them, they hadn't exactly been on speaking terms the last few years, and she was fresh out of owls. The worry that had begun as a tickle at the base of her spine was now raging in her skull. Hermione was in danger, she just knew it. And it was her fault.

"Well, if I can't call Ron and Harry, perhaps I can raise enough hell that someone else will call the Min. But I'm not waiting any longer." She knew the wards would strike at her as soon as she was inside the house, but she also knew of an apparition point that her father had never told anyone about, and how to use it. Pansy ran swiftly up the cobbled walk in front of the house, and counted stones back from the steps. She put her foot on a particular stone, turned on the spot, and Apparated.

She appeared in the study, and has she did, a high, keening sound came from the very air of the room; she also felt a sense of lethargy flooding her. "Bellwether changed the wards," Pansy thought. "I know where he'll be though." She forced herself to move to the bookshelves, and for a terrible moment was afraid the Bellwether had changed the access code to the stairwell. He had.

"Damn!" She was really panicked now; she felt in her heart that Hermione was in that small stone room deep under the house. The room that had known torture and death before. She struggled to raise her wand, and fired blasting curses at the bookshelf that did nothing but destroy some books. "Hermione will not like that," formed the thought in a corner of her mind. She heard the crack of apparition.

"Mistress Pansy!" squeaked a high voice. "What is you doing here?"

"Violet! I'm trying to save my friend Hermione, Bellwether has her down below, and the wards are draining my strength. I can't get in. Can you help me?" begged Pansy.

Violet's face contorted with effort, she was trying to do something that she knew her current Master would not approve of. Two things warred within her, one was that Pansy had actually been fairly kind to her when she had noticed her; the other was that her new Master was indeed an arsehole, just like everyone said. But she couldn't quite break free enough to act, unless… "Order me, Miss Pansy," Violet said in an astonishingly strong voice for a House-elf.

"Violet, open the doorway to the stairs, instantly," said Pansy in a tone that would have sent nearly anyone scrambling to obey. Pansy was after all, a pureblood witch accustomed to command, or she had been.

Violet smiled, and the shelf swung aside. "Call Harry," Pansy snapped as she forced her way down the stairs, her legs getting heavier with each step.

There was only one Harry as far as Violet was concerned, and taking Pansy's last words to her as a command, Violet Apparated.

Pansy tried, she really did, but as soon as she forced her failing legs to carry her into the room at the bottom of the stairs, she was effectively paralyzed.

"Ah, Pansy my dear, so good to see you again," crooned Bellwether. "Is Ms. Granger a friend of yours then? I do hope so; one should have friends to attend one's death." Pansy could not turn her head, but she could see Hermione crumpled on the floor, motionless. "I regret to say that she feels no pain, though perhaps she can still hear us. The hearing is the last to go, so the Dark Lord told me. Oh yes, I received that poison as a gift from the Dark Lord himself. I am proud to say, since you will never be able to repeat it, that I was quite highly placed in his service. Please excuse me if I go on a bit, it has been extremely difficult not to boast about my accomplishments. The fact that my Lord was ultimately defeated was no fault of mine, after all. And you, the offspring of my cursed partner, damn him for his weakness, are going to be privileged to witness one other very special creation of my fallen Lord." Bellwether pointed to an iron door set into the wall.

"That is a doorway to nothingness. Well, perhaps not exactly nothingness, there are… "things", beyond that door. I have no idea what they are, my Lord never told me, but they do seem to be hungry. We would feed spies and traitors feet first into that door, and whatever is in there must do terribly painful things to new arrivals. No one ever got in past the knees before telling everything that they knew. Sometimes that gained them a merciful shove through the door, sometimes not. I was iso/i looking forward to feeding your parents through that door, but he was a coward to the last. Once he was aware of how thoroughly I had ruined him, how masterfully I had drained his accounts and stolen his properties, he went quite mad I 'm afraid. And I do want to thank you for volunteering in his place. Such a dutiful daughter you are, and so lovely." A small groan came from Hermione's direction. "Oh, don't worry Pansy, she won't suffer much longer," he said soothingly. Bellwether waved his wand at the iron door, and it swung open silently. Nothingness seemed a good enough way to describe what was past the doorway; at least it looked like nothing that Pansy had ever seen.

"And don't be jealous that your friend gets to go first, Pansy. I'm sure your trip through the doorway will be ever so much more exciting!" Bellwether smiled widely as he walked over to Hermione and reached for her hair…

The air in the room shuddered, the wards shattered, and in the instant of consciousness left to her Pansy saw two extremely powerful and terrifyingly angry wizards appear back-to-back in the center of the room. Then there was a rapidly expanding globe of red light, and Pansy crumpled to the floor.

xxxx

"Sorry about the stunner, Pansy," said Harry, who was cradling her head, "but it's so much easier to sort things out when everyone but Ron and I are out cold."

"Hermione…" Pansy began.

"We know, she's been poisoned, Ron's taken her to St. Mungo's. Do you know what the poison was?"

"Something Voldemort created," spat Pansy, her distress over Hermione overcoming her reluctance to say the name. "And that bit of filth over there used it on her."

"Well then, he's the very one to supply an antidote, isn't he? Enervate!" intoned Harry. Bellwether's eyes opened. "Would you be so kind as to supply us with the antidote to the poison that you gave Hermione Granger, Mr. Bellwether?' said Harry politely.

"I don't know what you mean; those two women attacked me in my home! I know nothing of poisons," answered Bellwether.

"Save it, Bellwether. We've got it chapter and verse, everything you said to either Hermione or Pansy was recorded legitimately, and you're finished. Now answer the question, where is the antidote?" Harry wasn't so polite this time.

"I have nothing further to say," declared Bellwether, and he shut his mouth resolutely.

"Stick one of his hands through that doorway, Harry," suggested Pansy, "he claims that was a wonderful way of making people talk, and disappear. Or be traditional and feed him in slowly feet first. It sounded fascinating."

"Fine, take his feet, Pansy, we'll stick with tradition. Don't worry about getting kicked, he can't move."

"You can't do this, it's torture!" spluttered Bellwether.

"I certainly hope so, you son-of-a-bitch," replied Pansy, "last chance, Morty old son." Pansy had him by the knees, and with Harry's help had slid his feet right up to the edge of the doorway. Pansy took a deep breath, and grasped his legs tighter.

"STOP! I beg you, stop!" shrieked Bellwether. "The antidote is in my left vest pocket. It must be injected directly into the bloodstream!"

Harry bent and removed a small vial from the pocket. He handed it to Pansy. "What is the poison, Bellwether?" he demanded.

"I do not know, the Dark Lord gave it to me. I swear that I know nothing of it other than that it is painless, and rather slow-acting!"

"Go, Pansy, take it to St. Mungo's, they will be expecting someone."

"Hermione is your friend, you should go," protested Pansy.

"Don't waste time, go, Hermione is in love with you, it's you she'll want to see when she wakes. GO!" Pansy went.

"Mortimer my lad, if Hermione Granger does not recover completely, I am going to pass you through that doorway in such a fashion that the last thing through will be your screams," said Harry casually. "Unless Pansy can come up with something better, that is. I surely hope you told us the truth about that antidote. You did, didn't you Mortimer?"

Bellwether nodded, but he also recalled that all that he knew of that poison came from the Dark Lord. And Voldemort had been an unparalleled liar.

Pansy appeared in the lobby of St. Mungo's, and as Harry had said she was expected. "Come," said a healer as he grabbed her arm and Apparated. They appeared at the foot of Hermione's bed.

"Here," sobbed Pansy as she handed over the vial, "it has to be injected into the bloodstream." The healer took the vial of potion, and Ron made room for her at Hermione's side. "She is the most wonderful person I have ever known," said Pansy softly, "and she may die before my eyes. She may die before I can tell her I love her." Ron put his arm around her shoulders, it actually felt very nice.

"There was always only one of her," agreed Ron. "She's strong Pansy, she'll pull through. She _has_ to pull through." The healers had finished administering the antidote.

"We have no sample of the poison, but we can analyze the residue of this antidote. Perhaps we can develop something to enhance the effect. For now however, it is up to Ms. Granger," the healer solemnly told them. "Someone should stay with her, talk to her, it might help." The healer left swiftly.

"Harry may need you Ron, I'll stay with her," said Pansy. Ron hesitated, and then he remembered the look on Hermione's face as she gazed at Pansy.

"Take care of her Parkinson," he said gruffly, "try and deserve her."

"I will never deserve her Weasley, but I will devote my life to trying to," whispered Pansy. Ron squeezed her shoulder and left.

Pansy laid her face beside Hermione's, and cradled her cheek with a trembling hand. _"Come back to me, and share my life,"_ she sang softly. _"Come back to me, and be my wife. Come back to me, come back to me, come back to me…"_

The healers did not disturb Pansy as they checked on Hermione throughout the night, but they did pause now and then to listen to the endless poem of love that Pansy sang to her.

xxxx

"I can't believe she isn't here with us," intoned Ron sadly over the wonderful meal that Harry had prepared.

"I know Ron; Fridays are hollow things without Hermione to keep us in line. I don't think I'll ever get used to her not being here every Friday."

"No more will I, but life goes on, they say," sighed Ron.

"So they say, but what the Hell do they know, anyway?" Harry silently served his plate.

xxxx

A single spotlight shone on the floor, and out walked Pansy Parkinson wearing a skin-tight black dress. The music started, and she danced gracefully, and she was beautiful, but her face was a stone mask of disdain. The dress peeled off of her as if by magic, and a gasp came from her audience. She wore nothing at all beneath the dress. She undulated across the floor, and straddled the lap of the seated patron who had at last met the price that demanded her surrender. In the ballroom of the manor that had been restored to her, she laced her fingers behind Hermione's neck, and she danced, and she danced, and she sang softly…

_"Come with me, come with me, oh come with me, my life; come for me, oh come for me, please - come for me, my wife…"_


End file.
